John Paul studied the map for about ten seconds.

"It's going to be close," he said as he started the ignition.

"But we can make it?"

"Maybe," was all he would allow. "You navigate. Put your seat belt on."

He couldn't floor it until they were out of the parking area, but by the time they'd reached the gate at the end of the long, winding road, he was going fifty.

Avery was leaning forward, rocking, as though that motion would help them get closer to their destination. She realized what she was doing and forced herself to sit back while she concentrated for the moment on giving him directions.

He sped down the highway. "There," she shouted when she saw the sign. "Take the cutoff up ahead. It should be about a mile or so. You can stay on that two-lane for at least twenty miles, maybe thirty." Gripping her hands together, she watched the road until the turnoff came into view. "Slow down. There it is. You'll miss it."

"I see it," he said calmly.

He took the blacktop road on two wheels. Avery braced herself with her hand against the dashboard. Didn't these things turn over all the time? That was all they needed, for John Paul to wreck the car. Carrie would be doomed.

Calm down, she told herself. We'll make it. We have to.

She looked down, saw the masculine Swatch watch half on top of her little Timex, and quickly removed it. After she examined the front and the back, she carefully placed it in the cup holder between them.

The road straightened ahead, and he glanced over. "Now you start talking," he said. "Tell me exactly what she said."

She told him what she could remember, and then she said, "She was there watching us. I tried to find her on my way outside, but there were so many people milling around."

"She might not have been inside. Didn't you notice all the security cameras?"

She shook her head. "No."

"All she had to do was hook into their system. She didn't have to be there to watch you at the counter. Was there anything to distinguish her voice?"

"No, nothing. She just sounded…"

"What?"

"Creepy. She told me not to be a killjoy, called what she was doing a game. She didn't want me to spoil her fun."

Avery remembered the papers she'd shoved in her backpack and pulled them out.

"What's that?"

"I asked Cannon to give me all the information he had on the other two women who canceled at the last minute. She told me there were two women with Carrie now. They have to be the same ones. The first name is Anne Trapp. She lives in Cleveland and owns Trapp Shipping Company. Then there's Judge Sara Collins from Miami. It appears that all three reservations were made on credit cards. Each with a different name on it." She read the names to him.

"Do the names mean anything to you?"

"No," she answered. "I don't think Carrie's ever mentioned any of them, and I don't know how she would know them. Carrie and my uncle live in Bel Air."

"I figured that was where you were from."

"For a while I was," she said. "I live in Virginia now." She picked up the watch and checked the time again. "Can't we go any faster?"

"I'm going close to eighty now. The speed limit is fifty-five. I just hope the highway patrol isn't around."

Oh, God, she hadn't thought about that. They would be delayed indefinitely if they were stopped.

"Slow down then."

"Make up your mind, sweetheart. Fast or slow? It's your call."

"We'll make up the speed on the access road. Slow down for now."

He did. "You're sure the woman on the phone said, ' We have her'?" stressing the plural.

"You already asked me that, and, yes, I'm still sure she said they have her. Why is that important?"

He could barely contain his excitement. "Because just maybe Monk is waiting for you at that spot on the map, and that gives me

a unique opportunity to kill the bastard. If I can figure out a way to get ahead of him…"

He didn't go on, but she noticed he increased their speed again. "I think it's time for you to answer some questions," she said.

"Like what?"

"Why were you looking for Carrie? How do you know her?"

He had to confess. "I don't know her."

"But you said…"

"I lied," he said curtly. "I know the man who…"

"Who what?"

He was going to say the man who killed her because, if Monk was continuing with his pattern, those three women were already dead and buried. He had changed one thing, John Paul acknowledged. He was obviously now working with a partner.

"… who is after the women," he said. "The man calling himself Monk. I doubt that's the name on his birth certificate."

"Tell me what you know about him. Who is he?"

"A professional killer."

"A what?" she asked sharply.

He repeated himself, and then he glanced at her face to see how she was taking the news. Not well, he decided. Not well at all. She was rapidly turning green.

"Are you gonna get sick?" He asked the question without a bit of sympathy in his voice.

"No."

He didn't believe her. "Roll down the window and lean out if you think-"

"I'm okay," she said, even as she hit the button to automatically lower the window. She took a couple of deep breaths. The air

was heavy with an earthy, musty scent. It made her want to gag. No, fresh air wasn't helping.

A professional killer. My God, she thought.

She exhaled and tried to clear her thoughts. Deal with what you know as fact, she told herself. Think it through.

Anne Trapp. Sara Collins. Those two women were throwing a wrench in her analysis. What was the common denominator?

"There has to be a connection," she said, and as soon as the words were out of her mouth, she shook her head. "No, I can't assume that."

He concentrated on the road. He had increased the speed once again because there weren't any other cars around, and he was betting the highway patrol was busy monitoring the more congested areas. He eased up on the gas pedal when the needle hit seventy.

"Road ends in five miles."

She grabbed the map. "How do you know?"

"I just read the sign."

"We're supposed to take the access road."

"I'm looking," he said.

She glanced at the watch for what had to be the hundredth time and saw that a full twenty minutes had passed. Then she measured the distance in her mind to the red X.

He glanced over at her. "Without good roads, it's going to be close. We might not make it, Avery."

"We'll make it," she insisted. "We have to make it."

"Ah, here we go," he said as he swerved off the road onto an access. Gravel spit up over the tires and hit the windshield as he flshtailed up the winding road. It was only wide enough for a single car, and the branches of the evergreens scraped the sides

of the SUV as it zoomed past.

"We're headed in the right direction, and that's all that matters," he said.

"If we're lucky, maybe farther up we'll hook into a better road."

"Or no road at all."

"How exactly do you know Monk?"

"I've never met him, if that's what you're asking. He's become a hobby of mine. He went after someone close to me."

"Someone hired him to kill this friend of yours?"

"No," he answered. "But she got in the way. It was my sister. He was hired to get some information she had, and he tried to kill her to get it. Fortunately, his plans got all screwed up, and he ended up going to ground."

"So you've been tracking him for some time."

"Yes," he answered. "The man I called from Cannon's office also has a vested interest in Monk."

"Who is he?"

"Clayborne," he answered. "Noah Clayborne. He's FBI," he added with a note of disdain.

"But he's a friend of yours?"

"I wouldn't call him that."

She tilted her head as she studied him. What was his problem? He turned her attention then when he said, "Like I said, Monk went underground for over a year. Couldn't find more than a hint of his work… until now."